


The Mnemonic Patchwork

by DianaSolaris



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Community: trope_bingo, F/F, Game Over Timeline, Ghosts, Trust and Vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: Terezi Pyrope carries her broken promises around her wrist and neck, like accessory chains or red strings of fate, and day by day they weigh her down. Being dead is an adventure, sure, but there’s nothing about it that can make her stop regretting, stop wishing, stop rueing all the things she said that she would do.





	The Mnemonic Patchwork

                Terezi Pyrope carries her broken promises around her wrist and neck, like accessory chains or red strings of fate, and day by day they weigh her down. Being dead is an adventure, sure, but there’s nothing about it that can make her stop regretting, stop wishing, stop rueing all the things she said that she would do.

                There are too many of these to count, of course. She promised to protect Tav. She promised to help Aradia. She promised to love Karkat. All of these, and more, she’s failed at – and there’s not much more she can do about it now, is there?

                But Vriska…

                Terezi wonders if John has managed to fix anything. He’s – well, he’s John Egbert. Her faith in him isn’t exactly unwavering. But she’s still bleeding teal all over her clothes, her spirit trying to catch up with the sudden cessation of her mortal existence, and the blood loss probably has her believing strange things. Like that he might actually succeed.

                Why not? He seems to pratfall into success otherwise.

                So she wanders. She wanders in the dark, alone, and makes new promises.

                _I won’t hurt anybody, ever again._

_I will make things right._

_I’ll apologize until my tongue falls out, because –_

_-because I did this to myself._

_\---_

For all of Terezi’s whispered vows, the darkness yawns on and on. She’d give anything for a friendly face.

                She’d give anything, actually, to be four or five sweeps again. Before this all happened. Before the FLARP incident, before she had to choose between being friends with somebody who scared her and friends with the terrified and broken ones, hiding from her sadistic trials.

                If she were a good person – if she was what Dave thought she could be – she would have chosen Tavros and Aradia without any hesitance. But she’s not. She’s the type of legislacerator who gets bribed or blackmailed out of office, who can’t decide allegiances, who pretends to be removed and cool and SUP3R L3G1T while dying inside.

                She misses Vriska. Every day since the Incident she’s missed Vriska, and while she’ll never admit it to anybody, the truth looms large in her own internal landscape; that she killed her out of jealousy and heartbreak and disappointment, more than she ever did for justice.

\---

                And then, the universe decides she’s suffered enough.

                And then, she stumbles, and scrapes her knees on a ground that doesn’t exist, and she smells her. She doesn’t know how to describe Vriska’s colours and scents. It’s one thing to tell somebody that you can smell and taste purple, and red, and green. It’s another to try explain each person’s kaleidoscopic smell, how it’s made up of mnemonic associations and old conversations –

                Vriska is here.

                Terezi raises her head, and she can – not see, but sense the shifting patchwork that is Vriska. And Vriska stumbles forward, just as ghostly and just as dead as Terezi is, but there isn’t a hint of hate on her.

                “Hey,” Vriska whispers.

                “Hey yourself,” and Terezi begins to cry, and the promises come spilling from her mouth faster than she can stop them. Promises, promises, promises, made to be broken –

                -but she claims she means it this time, and Vriska believes her.

                (How long will it last? Until the stars burn out, until the universe cracks in two, until there’s nothing left to say.)


End file.
